


Blue Halo

by MyDearOuroboros



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Strip Club, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Flirting, Hand Jobs, Lap Dances, M/M, Oral Sex, Pilot!Keith, Porn With Plot, Strippers & Strip Clubs, stripper!Lance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-09-25 02:29:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9798458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyDearOuroboros/pseuds/MyDearOuroboros
Summary: Keith goes to a company-funded party in a strip club, gets gratuitously drunk, and kinda sorta falls in love.





	

Keith kept his head down in places like this. It was just, you know. Awkward.

  
Music pumping through the invisible speakers combined with the low, constantly shifting blue-red-pink light made the club more physical, somehow. It certainly made the dancers more physical, light catching perfumed hips and thighs and lips as they curved and swayed with the beat. Keith could feel their movements and the bassline thrum deep in his chest. Every time a fellow patron or waiter brushed by him in the pulsing crowds around the main stage, it sent a shock of heat and feeling up his spine. He felt like his eyes were too wide, like his ears were too open, like the room was hitting him harder than anyone else, but also like every other dancer and patron alike was moving in tune to his thoughts, his heartbeat. In a desperate attempt to keep his wits about him, Keith had fled back to the tiny table that had been reserved for them and ordered another whatever it was he was drinking from the flushed waitress when she stopped by. If he kept his head down, focused on the drink and the beat and not the slick looking flesh of almost everyone who passed him, he would survive this night. He had to.

  
Because, it wasn’t like he was here alone. Oh, no. Keith was at a strip club with Shiro.

  
_Shiro_. His boss. His pretty much adoptive brother. His hero, and not only that, his hero who had taken Keith under his wing and taught him everything about being a pilot. His hero, who’d decided Keith needed to go to at least one company-thrown party before he died, ‘or else he’d regret it forever’.

  
His hero, who obviously knew nothing about Keith.

  
“Having fun?” Shiro laughed, sliding into the seat next to him. Keith looked up and squinted. “I know, I know, strip clubs are not your thing. You just need to get through this one party, and I’ll never make you do it ever again.” Okay, maybe he did know a few things about Keith. A waiter sauntered by and set two shots of a clear liquid in front of them. “And here, liquid patience!”

  
Keith wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he gulped down the shot, but it certainly wasn’t the taste of slightly rotten raspberries and burning that he got. Even Shiro had to take a second. His cheeks were dark, either from the lights or the free alcohol.

  
In his three years working full-time as a test pilot for Garrison Aeronautics, Keith had successfully avoided all but three company-funded parties. The first was the small dinner his team had done when he got the job, and the second was an award ceremony, because Shiro had been nominated. Keith didn’t do the social side of Garrison, mostly because of nights like this one, when a party for the new DoD contract turned into ‘hey, let’s rent out a strip club’s VIP room and make the new pilots blush!’.

  
Shiro had turned up the puppy eyes though, and the mentor-mentee disappointment, and the unfortunately reasonable argument that if Keith never actually met the company’s founder, no amount of Shiro talking him up would get his hands on the wheel of their soon-to-be G150 super-sonic. Networking was a thing now that he’d taken off from the air force and landed in the world of private aeronautics. And that evidently included showing up to strip clubs and getting ridiculously drunk on company money.

  
“What the fuck did I just drink?” Keith asked. At least he could have control over what went into his body, if he couldn’t leave this loud throbbing mass of bodies.

  
“Seriously? It’s just Schnapps!” Shiro shouted as the music seemed to kick into high gear. “We should go back into the VIP room, it’ll be quieter there.”

  
And a thousand times sleazier, Keith thought. On the club floor, away from the stage, he could pretend he was in a normal nightclub with just a higher naked-to-clothed ratio than he was used to. But the leather and dark-velvet swathed VIP room that the higher-ups had rented for the evening was on another plane of lecherous existence. A huge curve of couch took up half the walls, and the rest were lined with dimly lit, semi-private booths made of plush, soft leather. A small bar was in the middle-back of the room, and just the shape and color of the bottles behind it stank of affluence.

  
And that wasn’t even getting to the dancers! The main-stagers would come to drink and schmooze back here in between their sets, pop the tops off of bottles covered in severe french and laugh as their commission takes skyrocketed. The music was low and blended into the background, and it seemed like the booths were sound proof. Keith had watched Garrison’s CFO murmur a name to a waiter when they’d first been shown in, and a sculpted, greek-god of a man in tiny shorts and a vest had led him into a booth a few minutes later. That, and the sound of champagne bottles and perfectly faked laughter had gotten Keith down on the overstimulating main floor as soon as the CEO finished his speech.

  
But now he was following Shiro back up the stairs and into the, admittedly quieter, belly of the beast.

  
Keith didn’t have a problem with the dancers or stripping per se. It was a business, and the dancers worked damn hard for good money, and if that’s what you were good at and you liked the work, it wasn’t really any of Keith’s business. It was just something about the club, he thought, because he didn’t really do the whole ‘club’ thing anyways, but no. It was more than that. Something about the club’s patrons, really, made Keith queasy. Like he could see their eyes following the hips and asses or breasts of every waiter, dancer, or otherwise vaguely young and attractive person there. It was this weird, uncomfortable power imbalance that Keith just couldn’t wrap his head around. And the fact that the Garrison’s board and upper-management were apparently on a first name basis with the staff really didn’t help.

  
Creepy old silicone-valley bastards. He hadn’t gotten along well with his coworkers in the air force but goddamn, at least they hadn’t hung the promise of their cash over an entire club’s head to get it to jump whenever they said.

  
The VIP room hadn’t gotten any better in the time he spent on the floor. Hendricks, Shiro’s boss, waved them over to a side of the round lounge space. Keith recognized one of his teammates, Matt, and one of the head engineers talking quietly in a group on one side of the couch. The main commotion was coming from the very drunk group in the center, and was beginning to spill out towards the spot where Hendricks sat.

  
“Takashi!” Hendricks yelled as they approached. “Sit, sit-” Shiro collapsed onto the couch near Hendricks. Keith hovered.

  
“Mr. Hendricks, this is my best pilot, Keith Kogane.” Keith nodded, trying to focus in front of him, instead of the laughter to his right. Hendricks sat up and grabbed his hand, shaking it vigorously.

  
“Kogane! I’ve seen you fly- You take the V160 up over at the Pollux Airfield, right?”

  
“Yes sir.” Keith kept his face stony, trying to hide the throbbing pain in his hand.

  
“A military man!” Hendricks’ face lit up. “Airforce?”

  
“Yes sir. Part of the 563rd sir.”

  
“Eh? That’d put you on mostly helicopters, Kogane!” Keith was getting the sense that Hendricks was the type of person who made up for his penis size by yelling everything he said. He’d met the man before, but he was tipsy and on-edge, and Hendricks was getting fucking annoying.

  
“Yes, but I have experiencing in stunt planes as well. I was hired by Garrison for my aerobatic experience, not my service.”

  
“Shame! We could use a tester for that new heli-hybrid- Ivan! Ivan, c’mere!” As a dark haired, middle aged man extracted himself from the tangle in the middle of the couch, Hendricks turned back to them. “You two are too sober! Drinks are on us- Kelly! She’s a pretty one, our waitress.” The girl who approached them would put most Playboy Bunnies to shame. Keith tried not to look at her breasts as she passed him a thin flute of champagne, earning him a slightly knowing smile. Keith sipped it, and then gulped it down as Ivan came closer. The man was even drunker than Hendricks, and his black dress pants were undone at the top. He swayed into the couch.

  
“Ivan! Kogane here is a heli-pilot! Do we still need a tester for the H-180?”

  
“Er...uh...” Keith would have been shocked if Ivan managed to string three words together, much less work out business details. “Yes?”

  
“Perfect!”

  
“Ah, actually,” Shiro broke in. Keith flashed him a look not dissimilar to the one worn by most bunny rabbits thirty seconds before being hit by a semi. “Keith was hoping to get a chance to work on the Lightning Rod project- The G150?”

  
“Eh? The ol’ Concorde-in-training?” Hendricks looked flabbergasted. “Nonsense! A helicopter he rode, a helicopter shall he pilot again!” Keith winced. Kelly offered him another glass of champagne, which he accepted gratefully.

  
Shiro and Hendricks began to argue the point; Shiro much more gracefully, peppering his speech with slurred drunken half-words in places that, Keith’s floating mind hinted, did a rather good job guiding the conversation in his favor. Huh. Maybe not as drunk as he thought. Keith finished off his glass, and looked around the VIP room.

 

  
His eyes were drawn, quite purposefully, to the raised LED-lined catwalk at the side of the room. It was positioned so that the circular couch had the best view, directly across from it, though Keith still got the sense that even the patrons would be expected to make the walk over to stand by the stage. It was a simple T-shape, with a short base and curved center stage tastefully festooned with deep maroon velvet. The LEDs flashed shades of red and pink and, strangely, yellow, just irregular enough to catch and hold his gaze. It reminded him of the bubbles in the pale wine. Anyone on that stage would be lit up by the twirling shapes, pulling one’s gaze up the dancer’s legs and towards other, more intimate places. Keith realized his glass was emptied and looked around, hoping to catch the attention of a waitress.

  
For the amount of free alcohol he’d been given earlier, Keith had sort of assumed that finding a waitress would be easier. Kelly had vanished, and a thin girl with eyelashes that put Shiro’s to shame was lounging with the higher-ups, ignoring or perhaps performing her main job. Keith sighed. The main floor was crawling with waitstaff of all sexes, though, so he stood up.

  
“Going to see the show, eh?” the sleazy voice of someone who he was pretty sure had been featured in major trade magazine called out behind him. Keith didn’t have to deal with this, he thought. He just wanted some damn fizzy wine. He didn’t look back.

  
The crowd in front of him was, well, a crowd. When had that happened? Probably around the time the attractively flashing lights had started up. Well, he was a man on a mission, and by god, would he complete it. This crowd wasn’t better than the one downstairs, but it certainly beat whatever was happening on the couch.

  
It took a solid shove through the crowd to get him close enough to a waiter holding a large serving tray filled with thin champagne flutes high above the crowd. Even then, he was about an inch too short to steal one _properly_. Keith was forced to scootch until he was braced against the back of the stage, push one leg back so he was leaning half up the stage wall, and use the force to stretch on the tippiest of his toes to grab a flute by the thin stem. He barely sloshed it at all, and treated himself to a victory slurp before turning to the task of getting out again.

  
Er. Well. The crowd had significantly thickened in the space of that one short sip. A bouncy bassline suddenly got louder than the rest of the room and Keith realized that he was standing with his back to the main stage, right in the middle of the catwalk. He was boxed in.

  
“Hell~oo V-I-Ps!” A grinning, vaguely accented voice cut above the crowd. Keith whirled around. A broad-chested man with a large moustache had stepped onto center stage and was speaking rapidly into a bedazzled microphone. His pecs and terra cotta chest hair seemed to be on display; He wore a blindingly white outfit consisting of a half open pirate-like shirt and pants so tight that Keith could see the individual muscles in his thighs, held up with matching white suspenders. Like a stripper mime, Keith thought as he took a gulp of champagne. At least the waiter had stuck around, and seemed to have settled in for the show. He needed bubbly distraction.

  
“I know you’re all having a great night!” For a man with chest hair that had chest hair, the announcer was doing a pretty good job of it. The crowd cheered their approval, and punctuated his speech with the same. “Let’s see, we have the Arus Group-” A woman in once tight business casual with half her buttons popped almost got Keith in the ear as she wiggled her arms above her head, screaming, “And Garrison Air and Space!” Keith added a dutiful whoop to the downright roar around him. He hadn’t realized how many of his coworkers were there. Or he was just really drunk. Both were possibilities at this point. He sipped his champagne.

  
“You are going to love this next one- He’s got legs up to heaven and lips like a diva! And let’s not even get started on that ass! Let’s give it up for _Blue En-nvy!_ ”

  
Stupid name, Keith thought as the announcer wiggled his remarkably taut glutes walking off stage. The lights around the stage shone an intense crimson, and Keith rested his elbows on it. He could see up into the overheads; They would have blinded him, if ‘Blue Envy’ hadn’t stepped up through the velvet curtains.

  
Keith just wasn’t prepared. His mouth would’ve gone dry if he didn’t have most of a glass of champagne in it. He gulped as lights turned and the music kicked into gear, a thin electric melody streaming through the speakers ten feet from his face. When ‘Blue Envy’ took a step up into stage center, the beat came through on cue, jiggling all the nerves in Keith’s brain.

  
Matching each throbbing beat to a step or a twitch of his hips, the man on stage seemed to survey the crowd with a hooded gaze that Keith could _feel_ gliding over him. He was lithe but visibly strong, his arm reaching to grasp the golden pole struck through the center of the stage as he stepped forward and tensing as his fingers brushed across it, showing off. ‘Blue Envy’ lived up to the name; The robin’s egg blue of his loose shirt, in a similar cut to the announcer’s but over a barely visible tank top, contrasted nicely with the sparkly navy shorts he wore underneath. The red light blended and melded with the glittering shorts, sending off hints of purple light that seemed to catch Keith’s eyes and force him to look deeper, to try and see the curve of the dancer’s ass or the muscle definition of his upper thigh or- or whatever was hiding underneath, but Keith shoved it back down. The lights and the movement were too intense. He couldn’t focus on everything at once.

  
Instead, he watched the dancer reach the beginning of the T and lean back, stroke his back down the length of the pole. Keith realized he was wearing heels, pumps higher than Keith thought possible to balance on and made from a dark navy so lush and matte that they could only be suede. The deep plie exposed the muscles in the dancer’s thighs and the shape of his neck. ‘Blue Envy’ held it just long enough for Keith’s eyes to rake over the shadows in the middle of his shorts-- And the crowd positively lost its shit. The dancer smirked, and Keith could feel it down to his shiny dress shoes.

  
But he’d only held the position for a heartbeat. The next, the dancer was stretching up and moving, pushing his hips side to side as the music swelled. His shoulders seemed disconnected from his spine which was obviously disconnected from his hips. They writhed against the pole and he seemed to play with the loose neck of his light overshirt, teasing the crowd until Keith could feel them pressing up behind him.

  
And then the dancer was pivoting on one pumped foot and peeling his shirt off in one smooth motion, giving Keith a full view of the muscles in his back stretching and twisting. He was still wearing a black tank top, Keith thought, as the crowd struggled around him. The dancer turned to toss the flimsy shirt into the crowd closest to him and Keith learned that he was wrong, so very amazingly wrong.

  
It wasn’t a tank top. It was a black croptop, and the shorts (which were really _so tight_ , how did Keith not see this before) had thin navy-black suspenders that kept them pulled just up over his belly button but in between the hem of the thin, soft looking crop top was a strip of perfectly _crema_ skin. Keith wanted to lick it.

  
Keith was not nearly drunk enough to want to lick it. He reached back behind himself for another glass of champagne. One was kindly placed in his hand, and he drank it.

  
The dancer stalked down the stage in a way that struck Keith as more suiting a runway than a stripclub. He paused between heartbeats in the song, turning and giving the crowd another taste of his body, teasing up his glittering shorts to show the tantalizing curve of his ass or leaning over them to purse his lips and let them see just how hard his nipples were. Keith watched, pupils wide black saucers.

  
‘Blue Envy’ turned his ass to the crowd and bent into another low plie, swirling his hips for the room. His face was still poised in that pouty half-smile, long eyelashes fluttering as he rose and danced, drawing his long fingers up and over his chest, snapping the suspenders and then shivering like he loved it. The crowd was clambering up the stage, stretching to put bills in the tight waist of the dancer’s shorts, the bands of his heels.

  
Keith was watching his face now, not realizing his own was screwed up into a tight look of total concentration, the face he usually wore in the cockpit, when he had a thousand read-outs to look at and a sky all around him. He was trying to figure out if that was glitter across ‘Blue Envy’’s cheeks, or if he was just naturally shiny and blue. It could be both, Keith decided. Suddenly, he realized that the dancer’s eyes were an impossibly dark blue, and that he was staring into them.

  
The dancer grinned, holding Keith’s gaze as he felt a terrible redness overtake his face. He should turn away, not be taken in by the show. Because it _was_ just a show. A good one, no fucking doubt there, but the dance was practically fluttering with cash stuffed in his clothes. He’d seen an easy target, and he was coming in for the kill, and Keith wouldn’t fall for it but--

  
But Keith felt kind of shitty when the dancer gave a final wink and turned away, back to his crowd. The song stuttered and changed, the beat only a little bit faster but giving the dancer a longer chance to play with his adoring fans. The (mostly) businessmen seemed to be taken in by him entirely. They screamed again, middle-aged men in button-downs and suit jackets, when the dancer lowered one suspender band to rest at his mid-shoulder, then off his arm entirely. Keith thought they would lose their damn minds when he unbuckled the second one and threw it into the crowd. He must have missed the memo that they were really all there for ‘Blue Envy’.

  
He could see why, though. Those what, three seconds of eye contact had left him breathless, unable to get his brain together. Every time he blinked, he found something else about the dancer to focus on: The curve of a hip, the arch of his back when the now free croptop fluttered in the air, the bow of his lips, held in either a smirk or a mocking pout. And then, well.

  
There was his shorts. The glitter had hidden his... _assets_ at first, but now as he was coming up the stage and dancing within armsreach, Keith could see everything. The dancer hung hard and heavy in his tight little shorts, and when he turned in profile, Keith could clearly see the curve of the dancer’s cock. It wasn’t _that_ much thicker than Keith thought his was, but it was being thrown around on a stage for chrissakes, obviously the man was comfortable with it. Keith realized he was staring, open-mouthed, for a few seconds too long and looked back up at the dancer’s face. ‘Blue Envy’ was smirking down at him.

  
Keith didn’t even remember finishing off his glass, all he knew was that a new one was pressed between his fingertips as the dancer finished his walk back upstage, to the pole. The music shifted one last time and ‘Blue Envy’ shifted his weight and swung himself up, up, and around the pole, mounting it with ease. Keith felt himself being pushed, closer up towards the wide bulk of the stage, until he was almost at the front of the crowd in front of the dancer. He readied his elbows and shoved until he was hugging the stagelights again, able to watch, hypnotized, as ‘Blue Envy’ danced.

  
He’d been to a stripclub before, begrudgingly, but Keith didn’t remember those poledances looking like _this_. ‘Blue Envy’ must be some kind of acrobat in real life, he thought, to pull himself up and down and curl around the pole like that. It certainly made his perfectly flat stomach make sense, and the tight leanness in his upper arms and taut pecs, all of of which Keith could now see as ‘Blue Envy’ worked his thin crop top over his head and tossed it into the crowd. He ground his ass against the bar and then flipped his legs up, turned so the crowd could clearly see his pecs and the line of his cock rub against it.

  
Keith caught the dancer’s eye and his head reeled as the dancer held his gaze. This wasn’t the three seconds from before-- Every time the man had to turn, as soon as he could, he would be back in Keith’s eyes. His thin cheekbones - he was definitely wearing glitter - the bow of his lips - the arch of his brows - They pushed their way into Keith’s mind and held him, shoving out any other thought.

  
He barely realized the dance was ending until ‘Blue Envy’ had broke his gaze and turned, taken a stack of thin cards proffered by the emcee from earlier and a mic. The music had faded into the background.

  
“Hey-yy,” the dancer crooned, and let the crowd yell until they were tired. His voice wasn’t as low as Keith’s backbrain had perhaps supplied for him, but it had a curling quality that matched the smirk across his lips. “You had a fun time?” The crowd lost its shit again, which Keith was really getting tired of. He wasn’t quite out of the dancer’s spell yet, but the loss of tilting hips and a heartbeat bassline was making him antsy. He wanted more champagne.

  
“Well, I’m about to make the night of four lucky VIPs,” ‘Blue Envy’ hummed, shuffling through the stack of cards. “Whoever gets one of these vouchers will get a free dance with me, one on one, that sound fun?” He scanned over the crowd, taking his time-- Until he locked on to Keith and stayed there.

  
Keith watched the thin cards flutter through the air above his head. Before he could think about it, he was reaching up, stretching, and-

  
He caught the card between two fingertips and then hugged it tight to his chest. He didn’t hear the rest of ‘Blue Envy’’s speech. All Keith could think about was the soft grin on the dancer’s face when he caught the card, and the wink he gave as he turned to walk off stage.

 

 

Shiro looked rather more worried when Keith slumped back onto the couch than he had when Keith left. The higher-ups were still about, but Iverson was distracted by one of the prettier waitresses. The engineers were nowhere to be found, so while Shiro was in fact surrounded by people on the couch, he seemed to command a solid foot of space on every side.

  
“Did you have fun?” he asked, brows raised as Keith pulled a glass of champagne from the low table in front of them. Keith held up the card and Shiro plucked it and the flute gently from him.

  
“‘VIP-Exclusive: One Free Lapdance’,” he read aloud. “I thought you didn’t like strippers.”

  
“Who says I like him?” Keith grumped. He couldn’t get the sparkles of glitter and too-bright high contrast lights out of his eyes.

  
“It sure looks like you do,” Shiro had that obnoxious, ‘I’m-technically-your-best-friend and I-know-when-you’re-lying’ tone, it made Keith’s forehead clench up. “And it’s free, come on. At least think about it. Or more correctly, him.”

  
He nodded up towards the side of the stage, where the dancer had reappeared. ‘Blue Envy’, looking considerably less sweaty than he had when he’d left and with his hair slicked back, was now mixing through the crowd, laughing and hitting on his fans and the other club staff alike. The glittery navy shorts had been replaced by a matte pair no less tight than the first, and he’d put on a shimmery crop that did nothing to hide the sharp muscles in his chest, but he’d kept the gorgeous blue heels. Keith reached for Shiro’s beer.

  
“Ha! Yeah, not happening,” Shiro laughed, rescuing his drink. “You’ve had what, six glasses?”

  
“’m thirsty.”

  
“For ‘Blue Envy’, maybe.” Shiro gestured towards the omni-present waitress and ordered for them both. Keith dutifully took the proffered glass. The dancer was working his way through the crowd next to the stage, covered in the light from the cleverly hidden spots. He was having trouble looking away from the glittering lines that seemed to curl out from the dancer’s hair in an impossible blue halo.

 

 

Two glasses of water and a long trip to the bathroom later, Keith found himself standing on the edge of the VIP bar, pleasantly but no longer sloppy drunk. The noise was no longer grating but rather vaguely reminded him of the swaying dancer’s hips, the stench of sweat and smoke feeling dangerous in a good way, no longer threatening. He found his eyes dancing over the faces and asses of the crowd, looking for that deep blue.

  
Another dancer mounted the stage (what, the third since ‘Blue Envy’?) and Keith’s eye was caught by the flash of the lights, the way her eyes seemed to glow an unworldly purple. He leaned against the door, eyes half-lidded.

  
“Aww, forget me already?” a voice to his side suddenly asked, making him jump. The dancer grinned, lips curling in just the right way as to suggest a hidden smirk.

“Don’t blame you. That girl’s got legs for days.”

  
“I was looking for you,” Keith laughed. “You forgot something?”

  
“Hmm?” the dancer turned to him.

  
Keith held up the thin faux-playing card between two fingers, trying to keep a straight face and not look at the dancer’s. The other man seemed to falter for a second, but then finally laughed.

  
“You caught it! I knew you would-- That’s why they call me the sharpshooter.” He clicked his tongue and winked, sending Keith into a peel of snorting giggles.

  
“I thought they called you Blue Envy?”

  
“That too,” the dancer said. His confident grin deepened into a smirk that made Keith’s heart rate tick up. He leaned in, close enough for Keith to feel the weight of his breath. “Wanna gimme that card and see why?” His fingers brushed over Keith’s hand.

  
Keith nodded, let the card be plucked away and whisked to some undisclosed location. and ‘Blue Envy’ interlace their fingers. As he was led towards one of the plush booths at the side of the bar, Keith blushed at the whoops and whistles of his drunken coworkers. The dancer’s hand was warm, his own ears felt like they were burning, he could feel the heat rising in his cheeks.

  
“Ah- Champagne?” he asked when they reached the silky curtain of the booth. The dancer gestured towards a waitress, and Keith ducked inside. The crescent-moon loveseat was small enough to feel intimate but would easily fit two people, especially when one was curled in another’s lap. Keith scooted to the far end, heart pounding painfully.

  
The dancer ducked into the dim booth, a flute balanced between two fingers, pulling the curtain behind him closed. The sound of the boisterous VIP room seemed to fade. He handed the flute smoothly to Keith, and then turned and fiddled with a small box on the wall until the bands of light, hidden around the edges of the booth, faded and ebbed to just the right mix of deep red and earthy brown, casting the blue of his costume into a deep, royal purple.

  
He turned, came closer as an intensely humming beat began to fill the booth. Keith imagined a jaguar, a stalking cat with the deepest navy eyes he’d ever seen coming closer. He looked away, reached for the champagne.

  
“Hey,” the dancer gently touched his wrist, stopping him instantly. “You’ve never done this before, have you?” Keith looked up at him. A look of genuine concern glowed from the dancer’s eyes. He shook his head. The dancer sighed. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. We can play some music, wait a bit, and go back out there looking like you had a good time.”

  
“I want to!” Keith blurted, sitting straight up. “I mean- I don’t, I haven’t done this before. But I do want... You’re really... Agh, I don’t know. I’m drunk.”

  
“Yeah, you really are,” the dancer laughed. “Alright. Tell me if you change your mind, alright?”

  
“Okay, uhm, ‘Blue’,” Keith’s mouth curled around the name.

  
“Lance!” the dancer said, catching Keith and evidently himself off guard. “You can call me Lance.”

  
Keith nodded, and Lance leaned back to up the sound that reverberated through the booth. When Keith was sure he could feel it in his bones, the dancer grinned and straddled his lap.

  
The music twirled and wrapped around them, and with it came Lance, shifting his hips in the same strangely hypnotic way he had in the dance. Except this time, he was up close, closer than before, and he could smell the sweat and sharp musky scent the other man was wearing, and feel the weight of his hands resting on Keith’s shoulders. And then there was the way that Lance held his lips and rolled the soft tip of his pink tongue just barely through the slit before grinning that wide half-smirk and rolling his hips just so, just enough to let Keith know his dress pants were a bit too tight.

  
When Keith’s arousal overcame his thoughts, the pulse of the beat in his ears was matched by the throbbing in his lips, his veins, his cock. He watched Lance slip the strap of his loose crop top down over his shoulder and let it hang there just long enough for Keith to wonder if it was _ever_ going to come off and reveal the curve of the chest Keith remembered from the first dance. He took a massive breath, barely managing not to reach out and rip it off, when Lance finally worked the shirt over his head and Keith noticed the deep brown of his perky nipples, the flex of his chest as he hummed with the bassline.

  
“Fuck...” Keith could barely breath with the scent of sweat and sex wrapped all around him, the warmth of Lance’s fingers slipping under the collar of his shirt as he ground down on top of him. The weight of the other man pushed the worry out of Keith’s mind. When it shifted, gently but increasing with the slow, intense pulse of the music, it consumed him. His breath drifted out of his control, his face, his thoughts- Every little bit of control that Keith constantly forced over his life seemed to leech out of his body through Lance’s warmth.

  
His cock, heavy in his pants already, twitched up and Lance let out a sharp breath. Before Keith could come to his senses, apologize, Lance was smiling slyly down at him. His palms left their places on his collar and slipped down to where Keith’s own hands hung, clenched tight at his side. Lance grasped on tight fist and massaged the tension out of it, gently tugging it up near his face to breathe sweet air across Keith’s knuckles and then dragging the other man’s fingers down his own neck, across his bare chest, his side, coming to rest in the curve of Lance’s soft, warm hip.

  
Lance curled his other hand around Keith’s remaining fist and used it to leverage himself forward, rubbing his own cock against Keith’s unfortunately clothed stomach. Keith’s eyes widened and he looked down to watch Lance, to see how swollen he already was through his tight blue shorts.

  
Whatever Keith had thought about Lance’s dick before was kicked sharply out of his head. Lance was big; Not intimidating or particularly thick, but obviously straining against the fabric. His mouth went dry, and then gushed as he thought about the way Lance would taste, heavy on his tongue, knocking against the curve of his throat. He didn’t realize his grip was tightening on Lance’s hip, pulling the other man towards him.

  
“Hey,” Lance murmured, catching Keith’s chin and tipping it up to stare into his face. His cheeks were just a little bit darker in the dim light. Keith could see the blush more in his eyes, glassy but sharp, and in the way his lips seemed to purse, growing plumper as blood raced through his body. Lance’s fingers tangled in Keith’s own, raised their hands together. He leaned down, touching their foreheads just barely together. Keith could get lost in the deep impossible blue of Lance’s eyes. He swallowed. He wanted desperately to close the gap, shove their lips against each other and then release, licking and sucking. Lance smiled, thin and proud.

  
And then he was pulling away, off of Keith, standing flat on the floor. Keith reeled, unable to connect the dots until his heart calmed down enough for him to realize the song was over. The ‘dance’, or whatever the fuck had just happened, was over. A cold, heavy weight settled in his stomach. Of course. Lance was good at his job, but it was just that: a job. Keith shifted in his chair, crossing his legs, trying to will his embarrassment out of existence. He couldn’t look up. It felt like his head was going to combust in shame for how much he’d gotten into that lapdance.

  
Except, Lance wasn’t walking away. He moved far enough to adjust himself, grab his discarded shirt from the floor, but he wasn’t leaving. Instead, now a bit better clothed, he turned back to Keith and whistled to get his attention. Keith looked up, barely. Lance’s smile was softer, kinder than before.

  
“I’m out at two,” he said, low enough that only Keith could hear but loud enough to break through the music that began to pick back up around them from the surrounding room. Keith blinked, not totally sure he was hearing correctly. Lance noticed, and nodded slowly. “Seriously,” he added. “Come to the front entrance, we can go somewhere.”

  
“My apartment,” Keith fumbled for words. “It’s not- I mean, it’s close.”

  
“Perfect,” Lance grinned now, and it lit up his face more than Keith had seen so far. “Two o’clock.”

 

 

Keith paced back and forth in front of the club as two AM came and went. He’d sobered up a little bit, not enough to drive, but enough to realize that he was _waiting in front of a strip club_ at _two in the morning_ because he’d fallen in love at first sight. With someone he paid to interact with. Who he’d met while quite drunk, at a party with the sleaziest people he knew.

  
What if he’d totally misread the situation? What if Lance would turn around when they were done and ask for money? Not that Keith wouldn’t pay him whatever he asked and not that that wouldn’t be Lance’s right because, come on, he was fucking gorgeous and Keith was. Well. Keith. Or, worse, what if Lance had actually wanted to brush him off because Keith was creeping him out, and now some scary bouncer would come out of nowhere and grab Keith and drop kick him into the nearest dumpster, not that Keith wouldn’t totally deserve it because, again, he was Keith.

  
Keith slid down against the side of the club. The wall was paneled with slick white plastic. It glowed in the light of the street lamps. Even around the club, in a relatively busy district covered in clubs like this one, the city felt empty and dark. He could hear drunks laughing and squealing as they passed by, a street away. He sighed. Five more minutes, and he’d give up and go home.

  
“There you are.”

  
Keith looked up. Two feet in front of him stood off-green, clunky looking boots. Loose jeans covered the legs that rose out of them, and connected to those-

  
“You okay?” Lance was smiling, almost fondly. Keith scrambled to his feet.

  
“I- I didn’t think--”

  
“Yeah, sorry about that,” Lance bit his lip, eyes dancing across Keith’s face. “It took me longer than I thought to count out.”

  
Relief flooded Keith’s body, from the tips of his toes up through his fingers. In the harsh, glittering streetlights, Lance looked more real than he had inside the club. He made a decision.

  
“It’s okay,” he murmured, pushing away from the wall. “Uhm- Do you-?”

  
“Take me home?” Lance cut him off, reaching for his hands. He already knew the answer.

 

 

They barely made it into Keith’s front door before Keith was dragging Lance back towards him and crashing their lips together. Clumsy at first, Keith licked up into Lance’s mouth until the other man was moving with him instead of against, until they were fitting together and pressing up and in, in waves that held a promise of the slick friction Keith could already almost taste. His hands slipped under Lance’s thin coat and around his hips, sense memory from the dance guiding him. Lance caught up quickly, adjusted and pressed Keith into the door, one hand bracing them and the other pushing into Keith’s chest, running down to his stomach.

  
Keith felt frantic as he pulled away to breath. He wondered if Lance could tell his knees were shaking, but then want overcame the thought and he shoved it out of his head. Thoughts seemed to float past him as he pushed Lance back and towards the couch, which he landed on with a thump. _It could just be the alcohol_. He kicked his shoes off behind him and swung a leg over Lance’s lap to sit in it. _Fuck, he’s so hot_. Keith let Lance rise enough to work his coat off his shoulders and tossed his own on top of it, behind them. He leaned back in, craning his head down to lick into Lance’s mouth, bite at his thin lips. _Does he do this a lot?_

  
They moved against each other, with only the sound of heartbeats and the slick noise of open mouthed kisses in the background. When Lance would weakly tilt his hips up, Keith would meet him, grind down, breathe through the movement and the feeling of Lance’s fingers moving up underneath his shirt again. This time, he met them and helped Lance pull it off, over his head, before leaning back into catch his mouth. When Lance turned away to breathe, Keith took in the sight of his strong neck for just long enough to etch it into his memory, and then dove in, kissing and sucking and trying desperately not to bite.

  
Lance groaned, feeling down Keith’s bare spine and tilting his head to kiss at Keith’s collar, unable to quite reach. Keith pulled away, just to check. Lance’s eyes were glassy, but he still seemed in control. Keith couldn’t string two thoughts together, he just needed to know--

  
“Bed?” Lance asked, the word hanging quiet in the thick air between them. Keith nodded, stood up, and Lance pushed himself off the couch. He pulled his shirt over his head in one slick move, not at all drawn out like it’d been at the club. His hair poked out in all directions. Keith grinned as Lance took a step towards him and stayed in his way, pressing his crotch against Lance’s and pawing at the hem of his pants. He ran his fingers around the waistband and then dipped them underneath to grab at Lance’s ass under his skin-tight work shorts, push his face back into Lance’s neck.

  
“Hnngh,” Lance mumbled. He was fumbling with the buttons on Keith’s dress pants. Finally, he nudged Keith back a step and sunk to his knees. Keith helped him work open the front of his pants and yank them down before stepping out of them. He ran his fingers through Lance’s hair as the other man nosed at the thin line of hair above his waistband, ran his hands up Keith’s thighs to brush the curve of his ass. Finally, he tugged Keith’s thin black boxer-briefs down.

  
Keith was hard, but not as much as he had been during the dance. Lance’s breath against his bare cock fixed that in a heartbeat, and Keith stumbled forward, pushing Lance back against the couch. His hips twitched forward, desperate for the slick heat and suction promised by that breath. Lance’s fingertips dug into the sides of his ass, but Keith tried to reign himself in, to wait till Lance did whatever he was deciding to do. He looked down.

  
Lance was watching him. When their eyes met, he glanced back towards Keith’s flushed cock, and swallowed. Maybe it was in his lips, or the way he’d groaned earlier. Keith paused, stilling almost imperceptibly under Lance’s grip.

  
“My-” Keith’s mouth was drier than he’d expected. “Do you want to go to my room?” Lance nodded sharply. Keith mimicked it, and then pulled back, taking Lance’s hand. He smiled, mirroring Lance’s own cocksure kindness from earlier in the night without realizing. As he led Lance out of the living room and down the hall to his bedroom, he realized Lance’s hand was quivering just the tiniest bit.

  
He turned as he reached his bed and let Lance’s hand go, sprawling over the comforter, legs spread. Lance watched, nose flaring, breathing hard. Keith reached between his legs to palm at his cock, coax it back into action, and Lance gulped.

  
“C’mere,” Keith murmured, feeling drunker than he had outside the club. “Want you to fuck me.”

  
Lance scrambled out of his pants with all the finesse Keith had had earlier, discarding them roughly behind them and then surrounding Keith on the bed. Keith giggled. Lance was so fucking eager, it turned the lithe, cool dancer from the club into the adorable, sexy guy in front of him. He opened his mouth and deepened the kiss that Lance pushed him into the bed with.

  
They ground against each other, Keith tilting his hips up and feeling the tantalizing heat of Lance’s cock brushing hard against his own. He thrust a hand between them and wrapped his fingers around them both, glancing down and giving Lance enough room to suck a bruise in Keith’s neck. Lance’s cock was larger than his, by just a bit, and leaking half-clear precum at the tip. Even in the half-light of Keith’s room, illuminated only by a streetlamp outside the window, he could see the deep rosy-purple flush of blood rushing through Lance. He was suddenly struck with an urge to turn on the lamp, to see Lance bare before him and hold the image tight in his mind.

  
_Nah,_ he thought as Lance ducked down to his chest, curving his back to press his cock against Keith’s thigh. _He’s just getting his confidence back._

  
Keith blanked out as Lance pressed a soft kiss against his nipple and then bit down, hard, feeling the other tightly between two fingers. He ground his thigh up against Lance’s cock and hummed as Lance really began working his hard, taut nipples, the skin around them and across his chest. He wasn’t harsh, just pushy. Demanding, now. Keith wanted his mouth on other things, wanted to touch Lance instead of gasping into his hair. He pushed his hips up, grabbed Lance’s hand, pushed it down and shifted their weight.

  
Lance went down kissing, up at Keith’s chest and then his fingers as Keith brushed his lips across Lance’s chest and down, towards his cock. His mouth watered. He was suddenly glad he was drunk, that he didn’t care how much he wanted to taste Lance. Keith pressed a soft kiss to the tip and then licked across the head, breathed open-mouth around him. Lance gasped. His fingers tangled in Keith’s mussed hair.

  
Careful with his teeth, Keith wrapped his lips tight around Lance and gently took him into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks as he went. Lance tasted salty, bitter precum melting in Keith’s mouth. A hand was stroking through his hair, tugging just slightly as Keith got comfortable around Lance’s cock. It reminded him to breathe, or maybe it was the aborted little twitches of Lance’s hips as he tried not to thrust down Keith’s throat. Keith began gently bobbing his head up and down Lance’s cock, the slick movement across his lips turning them numb as Lance nudged against the back of his throat. He hollowed his cheeks, sucking deeply and pushing up with his tongue. Lance curled around him, his groans becoming more and more breathy.

  
“Nnnh,” Lance sighed as Keith pulled back, gulping down enough air to keep going. “I’m- You gotta-” He was close, Keith realized. He fought an internal battle in a blink of an eye: Stop now and work himself open enough for Lance to fuck him, delaying both their orgasms for a serious amount of time, or go back down on his twitching, pulsing cock and draw out Lance’s orgasm the way he’d fantasized since he watched Lance step on that stage.

  
Lance almost whimpered as Keith took the part of his cock he couldn’t swallow and began stroking slowly to meet his own lips. Whatever restraint he’d had vanished. Lance began thrusting upwards a beat off Keith’s own rhythm, enough to make Keith choke and gasp around him. Keith took it, feeling the familiar ache settle into his jaw and rubbing himself against the covers underneath them. Lance’s hips sped up, skipped a beat, stuttered- He was pulling at Keith’s hair, little gasping sighs filling the room- And then spilling, cumming into Keith’s mouth and across his lips as Keith pulled back to stroke him gently through it.

  
Lance’s eyes truly were glassy now, unfocused, and his mouth stayed open as a thin aftershock of an orgasm shuddered up his spine. Keith sat up and next to him, gently touching his own half-erection. He watched, head tilted, as Lance’s breathing settled out. And then: It was like Lance’s brain rebooted, thoughts fell back into place, and he sat up suddenly too.

  
“Ah,” he gulped, and bit his lip. “You haven’t...”

  
“It’s okay,” Keith murmured. “I can-”

  
“No.” Lance shook his head. Keith paused, unsure. Lance pursed his lips but then moved towards him, words coming out in a rush. “I just, I want to, uhm. I want you to cum too.”

  
Keith smiled.

  
“And you said you wanted me to uhm, to f-fuck you, and I-” Lance was cut off by Keith kissing him, licking into his mouth. Lance melted, hand coming up to brush through Keith’s hair. He chased his lips when Keith pulled back enough to speak.

  
“Can you taste yourself? On my tongue?” Lance was slackjawed for a second but nodded, rushing to kiss Keith again.

  
“Yeah- I, yeah, I can, oh my god-” They kissed deeply, Keith pressed closed to Lance’s side.

  
“Then-” he moved Lance’s other hand down towards his cock. “I’ll be fine.” Lance nodded and closed the distance, taking Keith in his hand, hot and heavy from being hard this long. He smeared enough precum from the tip around to make his fist slick, and Keith looked down. Lance caught his eyes and smiled, that same sly smirk from before, and a jolt of electricity went up Keith’s spine through his cock. He collapsed over Lance, thrusting up into his hand and barely hearing the desperate little noises that came from his throat.

  
Lance’s forehead buried in his neck, keening into his hair, toes curling, Keith was tipping over the edge before he could make sense of the feeling. Sparkles clouded his vision as he came. He could feel the muscles in his thighs and stomach tighten infinitely, time stretch out thin like a rubber band. His mouth was dry, but he needed the air. Lance’s warmth seemed to flood his body, run through his very veins.

 

 

When he came down, what felt like hours later, Lance had grabbed a tissue from Keith’s table and was gently moving him to dab at what Keith slowly realized was cum drying on his tummy. He complied, shifting and stretching slowly under Lance’s hands. He blinked, and Lance was moving away. Keith grumbled under his breath, pawing at Lance’s hips.

  
“I’m gonna get water, okay?” Lance asked. His voice was raspy, and Keith could feel the beginnings of an itch in his own throat. “I’ll be right back.” Keith hummed something like an affirmation and collapsed back in his bed. The cool air of the room felt good on his back, across his sore lips.

  
Lance slid back into the bed next to him. Keith sat up and accepted the proffered plastic cup, drinking deeply as soon as he tasted the sweet water. He passed the cup back half empty and roughly wiped the water and drool from his chin. His brain felt cloudy, dim. Lance took a long sip, his neck bouncing as he swallowed, and then put the cup down on the table.

  
“Can I stay here tonight?” he asked. Keith was already drifting towards sleep. He nodded and snuggled down under the covers, against Lance’s thigh. “I mean, I get if you need me to go, but-”

  
“I said yeah,” Keith grumbled even though he hadn’t. He could feel Lance’s eyes on him. It was a good feeling. When Lance finally had enough, or got bored, Keith didn’t care, he pulled the covers back and slipped underneath them, facing Keith. Keith snuggled up against him. Their legs tangled together, Keith breathed once- twice- three times, and then floated off to a deep sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Ahhhhh this took four months to write because the last half was waaaaay easier than the build up. Also, I might have a shoe kink, idk. Lance is dancing in [these](http://www.zappos.com/p/michael-antonio-launey-cobalt-suede/product/8795298/color/53513) amazing fuckers. He calls his shoes 'Blue' and 'Ivy'. 
> 
> How much did Keith drink in this? I don't fucking know. This wasn't proofed. I'm so sorry. You can complain to me at [kieth-the-rad on tumblr](kieth-the-rad.tumblr.com).


End file.
